


finals week

by Murf1307



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Finals Week Stress, First Kiss, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-18
Updated: 2014-03-18
Packaged: 2018-01-16 03:56:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 484
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1331020
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Murf1307/pseuds/Murf1307
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Enjolras and Combeferre are worn thin by finals, and certain situations come to a head.</p>
            </blockquote>





	finals week

**Author's Note:**

> written september 11, 2013 for [this](http://moblitberner.co.vu/post/60909543396/yeah-sure-e-r-is-nice-but-have-you-thought-about) post.

It happens on accident, essentially.  Finals week turns Combeferre into a snarling, monosyllabic, stubbly  _mess,_  and Enjolras is frustrated on about a dozen different levels.

 

Their apartment becomes a war zone, because both of their tempers are so fried and short that they’re even arguing with each other.

One day, toward the end of the week, Enjolras just snaps.  He’s done,  _finished_  with everything, and he flounces past Combeferre with a terse, ‘is there coffee?’ discovers in the kitchen that there isn’t, and collapses into a kitchen chair because this week has rendered him almost nonfunctional.

"That doesn’t suit you," Combeferre rasps from the living room.  "Make us coffee?"

"No."

"I need caffeine."

"So do I."

"Then make coffee."

"I can’t be fucked to do anything, Combeferre, just make the damn coffee yourself."  Enjolras says all of this to the table, because it’s too much effort to move.  "You sound terrible."

Combeferre sighs, grumbling something incoherent.  But he gets up and comes into the kitchen and passes an hand through Enjolras’s ratty ponytail.  ”You look like you haven’t washed your hair all week.”

Both of them are exhausted.  Both of them are touchy.  Enjolras pushes his head back against Combeferre’s hand like a cat anyway, because some things are constant, like the fact that Combeferre can always calm Enjolras down with nothing more than this.  He reaches over and tugs at Combeferre’s sweatshirt, wordlessly asking Combeferre to come closer.

Combeferre lifts him out of his chair and pulls him back to the couch, and Enjolras snorts, because what even is this?

He doesn’t mind at all, though, when Combeferre pulls him close against his chest, both of them stretched out on the couch.  This is good, this is nice and familiar and them, and a warm little contented flicker worms its way up from his chest to his throat to perch under his chin.

He’s not thinking straight at all, which is part (though only part, he’ll realize later) of why he turns over on top of Combeferre and kisses him soundly on the mouth.

Combeferre makes a noise that doesn’t sound anything like a dam breaking, but feels like that anyway.  His arms curl a little tighter around Enjolras’s waist, and Enjolras tilts his head to deepen the kiss, lips dragging against Combeferre’s.

It’s the first kiss of many for that evening — which is completely lost to studying, to be honest — kisses traded lazily and softly, brushing over lips and throats and clavicles, dusted on cheeks, sealed wetly together with tongues sliding over each other in warm mouths, and Enjolras is hazy with it, fatigue and familiarity and Combeferre mixing together to warm and calm him, the way only Combeferre has ever been able to do.

Enjolras likes it, and resolves that he’ll talk about this properly with Combeferre when finals are over, but for now, he’s content to simply keep kissing him.


End file.
